


Alibi

by LapfulofMisha



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Stealing, Stiles is a Destiel Fangirl, misuse of pink flamingoes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-25 18:38:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956398
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LapfulofMisha/pseuds/LapfulofMisha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles pranks Derek to get back at him . . . Derek retaliates.<br/>Cause everybody knows, when you REALLY like someone . . . you mess with them relentlessly!!!!<br/>Eventually the pack intervenes and pranks them BOTH to get them to realize their true motives . . .</p><p> </p><p>Kudos and Comments will earn you my eternal gratitude :)</p><p>I'm also LapfulofMisha on tumblr</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pink and Blue

Stiles squinted into the darkness, trying to see his watch.

2:35 a.m.

He grinned into the darkness and continued on with his mission.  That is to say, he crept cautiously into the next immaculately manicured yard in one of the nicer areas of Beacon Hills.  It, like others before it, contained the most hideous of yard ornaments: the plastic pink flamingo.

Not just one, but three.

 Jackpot.

Stiles looked around for motion activated lights or other security devices which could impede his mission. Upon seeing nothing, he plucked the flamingoes from the ground and ran off as quickly and quietly as he could while carrying the bulky, decorative monstrosities.

XOXOXO

It was an innocent prank.

Entirely, sort of, slightly, well, maybe not _entirely_ innocent, okay?

Things had been calm in Beacon Hills for six, maybe seven months. No rival packs. No witches, kanimas, or anything else even remotely supernatural. Therein lay the problem.

It wasn’t a problem for most of them. In fact, everyone except Stiles seemed to be enjoying the reprieve from their usual craziness.  Derek was keeping them on their toes with pack meetings, group workout sessions, training and more training . . . but even so, Stiles got bored easily.

And Derek was crankier than usual; apparently, the lack of murder and chaos was getting on his nerves, too. Although why he felt compelled to take his frustrations out on Stiles, who knew?

Well. That would soon be rectified. 

Stiles was still a little stung from their last encounter. The entire pack was out for a run in the forest, and Stiles was, well, maybe he was testing Derek a little. He didn’t really feel like running anyway.  He may have stayed up a little bit too late indulging himself in his latest obsession.  Turns out he had a thing for fanfiction.  Specifically Destiel. And, hey, why not? That shit was _hot,_ and Stiles couldn’t help it if he had a kink for tall, dark supernatural creatures.

Nope. Not going there.

So when Derek got all over him for falling behind the rest of the pack, well . . .

“Dude! I’m only human!” he’d whined, when Derek made a point of calling him out for being slow. 

“You think that excuse will work the next time someone’s chasing you? Besides, _humans_ run faster than what you’re doing. A freaking _yard ornament_ moves faster than you.”

 _Yard ornament?_ Seriously? Derek didn’t even have a _yard,_ just a bunch of dirt surrounding his burnt down, partially rebuilt house.

Later that night, Stiles decided to show him a thing or two about yard ornaments.  Specifically pink flamingoes.

He _hated_  those fucking things.

So that is how Stiles found himself in front of the Hale house at 4:30 a.m., planting 17 misappropriated pink flamingoes in Derek’s front dirt. Yard. Whatever.

Two hours later, Stiles threw back the covers, exhausted from the lack of sleep but highly pleased with himself. He rolled out of bed, shut off the alarm, and grabbed an armload of clothes from his closet before heading to the shower.  Although he was dead on his feet, just imagining the look on Derek’s face when he walked out onto his porch, and saw an entire flock of fucking pink flamingoes . . . especially considering how creative Stiles had been in his placement of the birds . . .  Stiles started belly laughing at the thought of it.

Full-on, doubled over, belly laughing.

He turned on the shower and climbed in, his mind providing a picture of Derek standing in front of his house, scowling, his eyes maybe even flashing pissed-off alpha red as he surveyed Stiles’ handiwork. Undoubtedly, he would ball his hands into fists, clench his jaw, maybe even suck on his bottom lip . . .

. . . and all of a sudden Stiles has his hand around his morning boner, stroking himself hard and fast and he is is NOT horny for fucking _Sour Wolf,_ he just happens to enjoy a good prank, and who the fuck is he trying to kid, he wants Derek to pin him down and fuck him into the floor and wolf out when he comes, because Stiles seems to have this kink for supernatural beings.

He gets spunk on the wall of the shower, and wipes it off with his wet, freshly washed hand.

He yelps when he discovers his hand is blue.

Not being a werewolf himself, Stiles failed to notice the smell of Derek in his bathroom. He didn’t see the tiny bit of slightly smeared blue powder on the shower head.

He’d had his eyes closed in the shower, imagining the leathery, woodsy smell of Derek as he happily enjoyed his Stiles time. So he failed to notice what he should have known intuitively, after all this time:

Derek had heard him, the instant he’d encroached on his property. He’d watched from his doorway as Stiles strategically placed pink flamingoes in his yard.  Dirt. Whatever. He’d even admired Stiles’ tenacity as he strategically positioned two flamingoes into position 69 and got them to stay that way. He admired Stiles’ creativity when he blindfolded one flamingo and put a rope into its partner’s mouth.

After Stiles left, Derek did what he had to do.  He was the alpha, for God’s sake. He had to retaliate.

He’d sneaked quietly in through Stiles’ window, the packet of raspberry blue Kool-Aid in one hand, and stealthily walked into the bathroom. He’d unscrewed the shower head and deposited the blue powder, secretly thankful the sheriff had been called in on the night shift tonight and would not accidentally be subjected to having his skin dyed raspberry blue.

XOXOXO

Stiles stood in front of the mirror, wondering if he could call in ‘Smurfed’ to school, as he surveyed the varying shades of blue streaks adorning his body. His face was especially splattered, tumblr blue, as if someone had thrown a pallet of Do You Like The Color Of The Sky at him. No matter how much he’d scrubbed, the offending stains refused to fade.

This went way above and beyond revenge for a few pieces of plastic. Even if said pieces of plastic were strategically arranged in compromising positions.

Stiles dressed in as many clothes as possible, then picked up his phone and texted Derek:

‘It’s on like Donkey-Kong, Bitch.’

 


	2. I'll Huff and I'll Puff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles enlists the help of Isaac and Scott to help him get back at Derek for turning him blue.   
> He regrets it.

Isaac squinted at Stiles as he deadpanned, “it’s not okay to defile Oreos like that.”

“Dude! Come on! I went to school for two days with blue skin!  Coach said it looked like I tried to mate with the Tardis, Isaac. I. Need. Revenge.

Isaac’s long-suffering sigh made Stiles roll his eyes and continue, ”Stiles Junior was blue for three days.”

“Stiles _Junior?”_ he repeated in horror. “That is NOT a visual image I needed.”

“That’s why you have to help me! Otherwise I’ll keep talking and you won’t be able to sleep for a week.”

“Oh my God. I’ll help.”

So that is how Stiles ended up in the Hale house Friday afternoon, waiting for Isaac to scrape frosting out of the middle of the next cookie without breaking the top or bottom, before handing it over. They’d told Derek they were making snacks for the pack meeting, which was set to begin in a few hours. He’d raised his eyebrows at that, but since it was in fact the truth, he let it go. He even tried to be helpful by asking if they needed him to pick up anything from the store, and Stiles thought maybe that was his subtle way of apologizing, until Derek added, “you okay Stiles? Your color looks a little off” before winking and walking out the door.

Stiles retrieved the can of shaving cream that he’d hastily hidden and replaced the creamy filling of the Oreo in his hand with the thick white liquid from the aerosol can as Isaac shook his head in silence.

“He’s going to smell the shaving cream, you understand that, right?”

“That’s why we’re all going to shave with it before the meeting tonight.”

“I don’t shave, Stiles.”

“You do tonight, Isaac. We’re also going to run the actual frosting all over the serving plate. ”

“This may be the worst idea you’ve ever had.” Isaac sighed and handed him another Oreo.

“This is an AWESOME idea. Hand me that bottle of water.”

XOXOXO

As soon as Scott and Allison arrived for the meeting, Stiles accosted Scott.

“Dude, I need to talk to you about an urgent . . .relationship problem.” Stiles grabbed his arm and motioned him toward the kitchen.

“You’re not in a relationship,” Scott pointed out helpfully.

“Yeah, well, that’s the problem.” He put his arm around Scott and led him into the kitchen, where he quietly filled him in on the details of his prank.

“You’re insane.”

“No! I’m angry! Big difference. I need revenge, Scott, and you’re obligated to help me. Do you see this mole on my face?”

“The blue one?”

“My point exactly! Jackson told the entire locker room a joke about me having blue balls, Scott.”

Scott erupted into laughter. “I know, that was a good one.”

Stiles punched him in the shoulder. “It wasn’t funny!”

“It was _hysterical_! Oh. Sorry. I’ll help you, dude, what do you need me to do?”

XOXOXO

The pack meeting was short, and afterwards, Scott casually went into the kitchen to retrieve the snacks.  Allison jumped up to help him. No matter what anybody said to Derek’s face, the real reason they all showed up religiously for pack meetings was the food. Scott and Allison brought out armloads of it, putting brownies in front of Erica and Boyd, chocolate covered pretzels by Isaac (who was sitting as far away from Derek as possible, hoping to avoid the aftermath of the impending Oreo disaster), and banana pudding cake by Lydia and Jackson.

The Oreos went next to Derek.  Scott grabbed the very top cookie, which was un-violated and planted there by Stiles to make everything seem normal, and popped it into his mouth.

Derek, who suffered from obsessive paranoia even when he had no reason to be suspicious about anything, eyed Styles surreptitiously before settling back into his chair and relaxing.

And casually putting an Oreo in his mouth.

His eyes grew wide as he spit the cookie out onto the floor. Shaving cream oozed from the corners of his mouth as he frantically wiped his hand across his tongue.

Stiles blew a mouthful of water at Scott as he tried to prevent his own death from choking. Tears ran down his cheeks as he laughed, his eyes never leaving the glowering face of Derek across the room.

“You look _rabid_!” he squealed delightedly.

He’d forgotten how fast a werewolf could _move_.

He found himself standing inches from Derek’s face as Derek grabbed a fistful of shirt in one hand and crushed a half dozen shaving crème-filled Oreos with the other.

He proceeded to rub said shaving cream cookie Oreos into Stiles’ hair, thoroughly, as if he were trying to shampoo them into it.

All the while, he gave Stiles the Derek Glare of Death.

As the rest of the pack howled with laughter, (a few of them literally), Stiles realized that Derek grabbing him and growling in his face and running his hands through his hair was just about the hottest thing that  had ever happened to him. Derek’s lips were close, and so perfect, and this definitely was not a good time to think about the Destiel fanfic he read last night, the one where Dean and Cas’ eternal eye-fucking turned into actual fucking.

Because honestly, there was really nothing he wanted to do more than dig his fingers into Derek’s hair and explore the texture of Derek’s mouth with his tongue.

“I’ll get you for that, Stiles,” Derek informed him. “I’ll make you _pay_.”

He was trying to be intimidating, Stiles knew, but the hint of playfulness and amusement in his eyes made it difficult for Stiles to take him seriously. Stiles was a little disappointed when they didn’t turn red  - blame his kink for supernatural creatures – and his love for getting Derek riled up.

And, if he was honest with himself, he loved being the center of Derek’s attention.

“Uh huh. So, what, you’ll huff and you’ll puff and you’ll blow my house down?” Stiles teased, seeing Scott cringe out of the corner of his eye.

“Oh, no, Stiles,” he responded, moving even closer, and how the fuck was that even _possible_? “It won’t be your _house_ that I blow down.”

Derek was so intent on convincingly threatening Stiles that he failed to notice when Boyd casually walked behind Stiles and slipped the still-half-full can of shaving cream into his hand. Derek, in fact, was so far into Stiles’ personal space that he didn’t see Stiles reach around Derek’s left side and empty the can of shaving cream onto the top of his perfectly combed head.

Stiles knew he’d just taken his life into his own hands, but it was SOOO worth it, seeing the jiggling white glooping mass currently sliding down the side of Derek’s face. Stiles reveled in the sight of the red glowing eyes and the low growling hum as he leapt over the coffee table and ran for his life out the front door.

XOXOXO

He awoke the next morning to his father standing over his bed. Although it was very early, his dad looked very, very tired.

“What did you do, Stiles?”

“Do? Me? Can you give me a time frame? Or something? Cause I do a lot, and you need to give me some specifics to work with, here.”

“Stiles? I won’t ask you again. Who did you mess with, and why in God’s name did you do whatever it is that you did?”

The sheriff, faced with Stiles’ still half-asleep, glazed over stare, dragged him from his bed, down the stairs, and over to where the front door stood open.

Stiles looked out onto the front lawn. Somehow his Jeep had been maneuvered between the flowers and trees and was currently in the center of the yard.

Upside down.

Something small was leaning up against it in the grass. Stiles walked down the stairs, ignoring the fact that he was wearing only a pair of sweat pants, and knelt down next to his unfortunate vehicle.

It was a Little Golden Book.

Little Red Riding Hood.

Stiles buried his head in his hands. This was going to be a _long_ day.

 


	3. Here we go again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles avenges his Jeep; Scott gives him an ultimatum to stop pranking Derek before the rest of them are forced to step in; Stiles and Derek have a confrontation in the woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't seem to leave this story alone! Thanks to everyone for reading!

Stiles managed to swipe a few of them from his father, and Allison reluctantly donated a small supply from _her_ father. (She and Scott were becoming increasingly reluctant to participate in the shenanigans; in fact, the entire pack was getting rather fed up with the whole pranking business).

Scott’s mom provided a few, when pressured.

But it wasn’t until Stiles found himself in Coach Finstock’s office (for the third time in a week, how had he not noticed before?) that he realized he’d hit the mother lode.

Finstock was a sticky note hoarder.

Of course he was.

So, Stiles got up and began pacing as a distraction, as he tried to calm the Coach’s ranting. (Third time in a week – pacing did _not_ seem overly dramatic).  When the Coach turned around and yanked both hands into his own hair from sheer frustration, Stiles quickly and stealthily shoved handfuls of the hot pink, individually wrapped note pads into his pockets.

Fortunately, Finstock was so keyed up he failed to notice the giant bulges on the sides of Stiles’ shorts.

It had taken two weeks, but he’d finally accumulated enough sticky notes to retaliate.

After what may or may not have been some carefully calculated stalking, Stiles learned what time Derek normally went running, thus leaving his car unguarded in front on his house for about two hours a day.

He had to avenge the wrong that’d been done to his Jeep.

Stiles stood in front of Derek’s house, his mouth curving into the widest smile he’d worn in two weeks. Derek’s Camaro was parked just a few feet away, and Stiles knew Derek was at least a mile or two into the woods by now. He _had_ to be out of hearing range, out of _smelling_ range, and out of range of his recently developed psychic sense of Stiles’ current location at any given time.

Stiles slid his arms out of his backpack, unzipped it, and carefully inspected his supply of sticky notes.

Bless the Coach and his fetish for _hot pink_.

Stiles peeled the first note off and stuck it to Derek’s windshield, followed by another, then another, until the entire piece of glass was obscured by pink paper. Working quickly, he moved on to the hood, the doors, even the door handles, covering every square inch with sticky notes.  Afterward, he stood back to admire his work. There were hot pink, yellow, green, light blue and orange squares, like a fluorescent rainbow sculptured into the shape of a car.

He mentally applauded prankedd.com for the brilliant idea, gathered up his backpack, and headed back toward town. He’d been walking for maybe twenty minutes when he heard a distant voice yell, “SSTTTTTIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLEEEEEEEESSSS!!”

XOXOXO

“We need to talk about this!” Scott insisted, as Stiles scrolled through his new favorite website.  “Why do you feel the need to keep messing with an alpha werewolf?”

“Oh my god, check this one out!” Ignoring Scott completely, he pointed to a picture on his laptop of a vehicle that had a huge mound of snow lying across the top of it. The snow was sculpted into the shape of a giant penis with balls.

Scott rolled his eyes. “Where would you even get that much snow?”

“I’ll order it! Somewhere out there is a website just _waiting_ to sell snow to me.  It’s a great time to be alive, Scott.”

“Listen to yourself! You’re obsessed! And _he’s_ just as bad! Isaac said Derek told Erica, Boyd and him that if they help you again in any way, shape or form, he’d trap them in a circle of mountain ash and leave them there for a _week_.

Stiles grimaced. “Harsh.” He turned to look at Scott. “I can count on you, though, right?”

“No! Stiles! Honestly, I wish you two would just have sex and get it over with!” He made a horrified face as he realized what he just said, then turned and fled Stiles’ room.

Stiles stared after him, trying not to panic. Okay, so maybe he _was_ trying to get Derek’s attention, but was it so obvious that even _Scott_ knew? He just thought Derek should lighten up a little, that was all. Because it would be better for the entire pack. He was doing this for completely unselfish reasons. He wasn’t thinking at all about Derek’s amazingly toned and supernaturally muscular body. Or the way his claws would feel scratching down his back. He definitely wasn’t imagining the fantastically energetic and athletic sex the two of them could have.

Oh crap, he had it _bad_.

And Scott had figured it out before Stiles had.

Stiles stared at his laptop, briefly considering the photo of at least a thousand individual plastic forks sticking upright from every square foot of some poor guy’s lawn. Sighing, he shut the lid and crawled into bed.

The next morning, Stiles awoke to discover that Derek apparently knew about the same websites that Stiles did.

Hundreds of plastic cups sat on his floor, from wall to wall, each one filled to the rim.

_With blue kool-aid_.

Stiles pulled the covers back over his head, groaning.

XOXOXO

Scott groaned as Stiles plotted revenge (again).

“It’s a message, Scott. He’s mocking me. That prank was from _my_ website.”

“ _Your_ website,” he repeated dully. “Do you even know how ridiculous you sound?”

“This is war, Scott.”

“No, it’s not! You’ve got to stop!”

“Scott!”

“Stiles, if you don’t put an end to this, then _we will_!”

Stiles snorted at him as his phone began playing “Werewolves Of London” by Warren Zevon.

Scott froze. “You have got to be kidding me,” he managed to say without moving his lips.

Stiles wiggled his eyebrows and winked at Scott before looking down at the screen.

Derek.

Stiles answered.

“Well hey, if it isn’t the kool-aid king himself.  Where did you even _find_ that much kool-aid?”

“Meet me in the woods by my house in twenty minutes.”

No, Stiles’ dick did _not_ just jump at the very _suggestion_ of seeing Derek.

“Uh, yeah, because it’s not like I’m in school or anything!”

 Silence.

“Fine, I’ll uh, I’ll be there.” He put his phone back in his pocket before looking imploringly at Scott. 

“You gotta cover for me.  Tell Harris I’m – Actually, I don’t care what you tell him. I gotta go.”  He slammed his locker shut and ran down the hall.

“Stiles!? No more pranks, Stiles, or _we will put a stop to it_!” Scott yelled after him.

XOXOXO

Derek stood waiting by his front porch, with his tangled mess of dark hair and greenish gold eyes glinting in the sun and his ridiculous eyebrows and _who_ even _looked_ like that? Stiles suddenly deeply regretted skipping his morning shower routine because if he’d taken care of business as usual this morning then maybe he wouldn’t be so desperately friggin’ horny right now.

Derek grinned at the sight of the disheveled Stiles, showing his mouthful of gleaming white teeth, and Stiles was not imagining fangs, and he was definitely not imagining fangs nibbling on his –

“Ready to give up yet?” Derek asked.

“What? Are you kidding? I have _loads_ of things planned for you yet.” Stiles slammed his eyes shut when he realized how overtly _sexual_ that sounded.

“Really?” Derek raised his eyebrows. Stiles took his backpack and held it in front of himself, ignoring Derek’s smirk.

“Really.  I’m not afraid of you. There’s only so many ways you can prank a guy with kool-aid. I’m much more creative than you.” Stiles nodded, trying to convince himself as much as Derek.

Derek stepped closer to Stiles. “I don’t know, Stiles, I can be pretty creative when I need to be. You think kool-aid’s  the only way I have of getting to you?”

_Fuck my life,_ Stiles thought. _Who talks like that?_

 “You started this, as I recall,” he continued.  “So you need to finish it.”

“I plan on it,” he said weakly. 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get . . . treed. What else can I say?

Stiles had just closed out of the porn on his laptop and had fallen into a deep, peaceful sleep when his phone buzzed to let him know he had a text message.  He woke up enough to conclude it was probably one of Derek’s pranks. After all, the guy hadn’t spoken a word to him since the overheated and sexually frustrating conversation in the woods. He’d had plenty of time to dream up something good. Stiles was too sleepy, too warm and comfortable in his bed, to give a crap.

His phone buzzed again.

And again.

Groaning, he fumbled with it until he got the offending message to display: NEED HELP NOW!

It was from Scott.

Quickly, he scrolled back through the previous messages, a slight wave of guilt washing over him for ignoring his friend’s pleas for help.

“In woods by fallen oak tree near the clearing.”

“Get out here! I’m in trouble!”

Holy crap, what had Scott gotten himself into this time? He scrambled around the bedroom, sliding into his shoes, grabbing a t-shirt, and snatching up his keys before slipping out his bedroom door, all the while trying to be as quiet as possible so as not to wake his dad.

He drove to the woods as quickly as possible. Scott hadn’t responded to the texts he’d sent back, and Stiles was beginning to feel a bit panicked.

He parked his Jeep and ran the quarter of a mile or so into the woods to the area Scott had directed him to. It was clear and cool out, with plenty of light from the almost full moon.  He ran into the clearing, but Scott was nowhere to be seen.

There was, however, a highly unpleasant scratching noise coming from the trees off to his left.

“Scott?” he tentatively questioned.

Peering into the shadows, he saw two sets of silver glowing eyes.  Definitely not Scott’s.

The silver-eyed creature growled, and Stiles had time to think, _great, that’s what ate Scott and I’m next_ , before he was grabbed from behind and pushed out of the way.

Derek ran into the bushes after Silver Eyes, growling impressively himself, and before Stiles had time to wonder what Derek was doing in the woods at this time of night, he was running back _out_ of the bushes, with five of the silver eyed creatures running after him.

“Stiles, RUN!” he yelled, and Stiles didn’t need to be told twice. He hadn’t gone more than twenty feet when Derek grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into a nearby tree.

“New plan. _CLIMB_!”

Stiles turned to protest, but Derek glared at him with his red eyes and bared his fangs at him, and now there appeared to be six of the silver-eyed demon animals, (where were Sam and Dean when you needed them?) so Stiles decided to take his advice and climb the tree.

The bark felt rough and cool under his hands, and there were plenty of knots and low branches, so Stiles was able to scramble up the tree quickly.  Especially with the aid of Derek’s hand on his butt, shoving him up higher.

Stiles swung his leg onto a sturdy branch that extended from the trunk maybe twelve feet above the ground. Derek situated himself on a thick branch near Stiles, close to the base of the tree. The animals chasing them stood around the tree, howling, trying to climb up to their prey and failing.

They both took a minute to catch their breath before Derek glared sullenly at Stiles. “We seem to be safe for now. What are you _doing_ here, exactly?”

Stiles, indignant, (because hey, he had just as much right to be creeping around the woods in the middle of the night as Derek), announced, “I was invited here.”

It must have sounded as ridiculous to Derek’s ears as it did to Stiles’, because Derek’s eyes flashed red as he hissed, “invited by who?”

“Invited by . . . a friend. I had a date.” Stiles had no idea why he was feeding Derek this story; Scott could be lying dead in the woods somewhere while they were wasting time arguing.

Derek looked taken aback by that. “You. Had. A Date. In the woods. At 3 a.m.”

“Um. Sort of. And why do you sound so surprised? I do _date_.”

Derek snorted.  “No you don’t.”

“I’ll have you know that I – woah!” Stiles spiel to Derek describing his own awesomeness was interrupted when his foot slipped out from where it was perched underneath him. His arms automatically reached for the tree’s trunk, which was somehow no longer next to him.

Derek, moving with his typical supernatural speed, grabbed the flailing Stiles out of the air and manhandled him onto the branch directly in front of him. Practically in his lap. His arm wrapped itself around Stiles’ waist as they both straddled the tree limb, twelve feet off the ground above a pack of howling something or others that for some reason hadn’t given up and retreated back into the forest. In fact, one of them was lying down, comfortably watching the two men from where he was lazily stretched out on the forest floor.

Stiles absolutely was _not_ getting hard from being pressed up against Derek. He definitely was _not_ short of breath because of it.

Or so he kept telling himself.

“Of all the bone-headed, idiotic, ridiculous stunts-” Derek began angrily.

“I slipped, okay? I wasn’t exactly trying to fall to my death! Or worse, fall and break a bunch of bones and then get eaten to death! Still resulting in _death_!”

“Stiles?” Derek said softly.

“ _What???_ ”

“You’re shaking.”

“Yeah, well, nearly falling out of a tree causes that, every time.”

And then he almost fell out of the tree again, because HOLY FUCK Derek was rubbing his hand against the bare skin of Stiles’ arm.

“You have goose bumps. It’s too cold to be out here without a jacket.”

“I kind of left in a hurry, okay?”

 “Hm. Your date was getting impatient, was he?”

“Oh my God. I wasn’t out here for a date! Happy now?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Before he could utter any more surprised exclamations, Derek cupped Stiles’ cheek and turned his head and kissed him.  He pulled Stiles more tightly against him, the arm currently wrapped around him slipping down into Stiles’ pajama pants and gently caressing Stiles’ hip bone, causing him to squirm uncontrollably, and almost fall from the tree again.

“We need to find a more stable place to do this,” Stiles moaned. He kissed Derek chastely before looking toward the ground at the six animals.

All six stared back.

“What were _you_ doing out here in the middle of the night?” Stiles asked suddenly.

“Uh, I had a hot date?” Derek teased. “Although I have to admit I haven’t figured out how you’re controlling those dogs yet.”

Stiles gaped at him. “Controlling the – those are _dogs_? They’re too big to be dogs. And, newsflash, genius, if they were mine, I wouldn’t have had to climb a tree to get away from them.”

Derek’s breath hitched. “You – you’re not lying. Well, if they’re not your dogs, then who-” he cut himself off mid-sentence, looking genuinely confused.

“What the hell is going on here?” Stiles asked in a low voice. “Scott texted me and said he was in trouble and I should meet him here. By the time I-”

“Did you just say _Scott_ texted you?”

“Derek, your ears are three inches away from my mouth. Yes, that’s what I said.”

“I’m gonna kill him,” he said with certainty.

“Uh, I feel that way myself sometimes, but the dude’s still my best friend, and I can’t let you-”

“Scott texted _me_ and said you were in trouble. That’s why I’m here. When I got here, and you were obviously okay-”

“Except for the whole About To Be Eaten By Wild Animals thing-”

“I thought they were – I thought it was another one of your pranks.”

Stiles face palmed himself. “Oh my God. Derek, oh my _God_. We’ve been played. Suckered. Scammed. Duped. Swindled. Given a bum steer.”

“Stiles!” Derek groaned in exasperation.

“I’m guessing these dogs belong to Dr. Deaton,” he lamented.  “Scott warned me . . .”

“Warned you about what?”

“He said the pack was getting sick of us pranking each other. He said it was juvenile and we needed to stop flirting with each other and just have s- Uh, have s- some time. Together. To uh, talk out whatever it is that’s, uh-” he tried desperately to cover up what he’d almost revealed.

“Scott actually suggested we have _sex_?” Derek choked.

Stiles actually _tried_ to fall out of the tree this time.

Derek just held on tighter.

“Stiles – they conspired to get us alone together.”

“How long do you think they’ll leave us here?”

“We’re not waiting around to find out. Stay here.”

“Seriously?” Stiles asked as Derek climbed around and over him. He gracefully descended the tree, growling the dogs into submission as he went, until one by one they retreated back into the woods. He turned his wolfed out face up to grin at Stiles, who, after having just kissed Derek, thank you very much, definitely could not handle how _proud_ of himself Derek looked, and combined with the whole supernatural kink thing he had going and his general lack of sleep . . .

He fell out of the tree.

Derek leapt up and caught him and they both fell to the ground. Stiles, beyond slightly freaked out and far beyond a little horny (even more so now that there was a giant werewolf on top of him) sputtered, “why didn’t you scare them off like that before?”

“I told you, I thought you planned this. I thought, uh,” he stopped, looking suddenly indecisive.

Stiles glanced at him, feeling slightly insulted. “If I had planned this, we would have been someplace nicer than a tree.”

“Stiles? We need to get back at them. Big time. Once and for all.”

“I am SO down for that.” 


	5. The Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek and Stiles get everyone back for what happened in the woods . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my. So if anyone who reads this has good suggestions for me to add to the box, send em my way. ;) The last chapter is done, I hope to get it uploaded tomorrow night. I've left a little to the imagination this time . . .

“Now that we know Scott instigated the whole trapped  - in – the -  woods -  thing - ” Derek began.

“He swears there were never supposed to be trees involved.” Stiles had to defend his best friend; after all, thanks to him, Derek had finally kissed him.

The two of them sat huddled conspiratorially over a table at the café. They had agreed to a temporary truce with regard to pranking each other. They both agreed that their combined efforts needed to be focused on retaliation for the fiasco they’d experienced in the woods a few nights ago.

Apparently, Scott hadn’t acted alone. Upon investigation, they’d discovered the entire pack had been involved in some way, shape or form. Stiles’ pride had been a bit stung by their prank, but to Derek, well, having his entire pack plot against their alpha was an offense that demanded retribution.

“Regardless of what _was_ or _was not_ supposed to happen, the fact remains, we were stuck in a tree in the middle of the night.  You almost fell to your death, Stiles!”

“That was an awesome rescue, by the way.” Stiles grinned and reached up to high- five Derek, who responded by glowering at him even harder.

Stiles rolled his eyes as he dropped his un-slapped palm to the table. “You know they’re just trying to get us together, right?”

Derek choked on his drink.

“What’s _wrong_ with you?” Stiles demanded. “ _You_ kissed _me_ in the tree, remember?”

“Shut up, Stiles. I think I have a plan.”

“What? What’s your plan? Does it involve kool-aid, cause you’ve totally ruined that shit for me.”

Derek got up and threw some money down on the table, then turned to leave. Flustered, Stiles took off after him.

XOXOXO

Stiles looked around at the abandoned warehouse, then back at Derek, before throwing his hands in the air and shouting “NO!” for at least the thirteenth time since they left the café.  “First of all, like all of your other ideas, I’m pretty sure that’s illegal! Second of all . . . it violates the laws of physics!”

Derek, with his perfectly _perfect_ hair and his extra _scowly_ scowl, glared back at Stiles. “Stop being unimaginative,” he grumbled.

“Sorry buddy, but I’m siding with Einstein on this one. Furthermore, a prank is not effectual if it results in someone’s _death_! And I’m pretty sure all of your ideas so far inevitably conclude with maiming, at the very least.”

“Well then,” Derek huffed, “what’s your big plan for payback?”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Stiles beamed at him.

XOXOXO

The pack demanded food prepared by an outside party this time, as everyone had succumbed to well-founded fears of snacks that had been tampered with. Since no self - respecting pizza delivery person would deliver to Derek’s house, Scott and Allison were forced to stop on the way over and make the pick up. So they were the last ones to notice the extraordinary change in Stiles and Derek.

At first, the entire group tried to ignore the fact that Derek and Stiles now seemed . . . inseparable. They each loaded a plate with breadsticks and pizza, then sat next to each other on the couch and began feeding each other. Lydia had to pound Jackson roughly on the back when he choked, and Allison’s soda bypassed her esophagus and shot through her nose.

Scott eyed the two men suspiciously before returning to the kitchen for a bottle of water.  By the time he returned, he could keep quiet no longer; Stiles was in Derek’s lap, with Derek’s arms encircling him as they gazed lovingly into each other’s eyes.

“What the hell is going on here?” Scott whispered to Allison.

She shrugged and responded, “It might be a spell. They might have fallen victim to some kind of . . . love potion?”

Erica and Boyd moved over by them.  “Who even knew Derek had the facial muscles needed for smiling?” Erica asked, looking rather impressed.

“Uh, guys?” Boyd whispered. “Look what they’re doing now.”

“Oh my god, they were just at each other’s throats and now they’re . . .” Lydia’s voice trailed off as she tilted her head for a better of view of Stiles’ face attached to Derek’s neck.

“Now they’re at second base,” Scott offered. “Once again at each other’s throats.”

Scott’s observation was met with a chorus of ‘ew’s and moaning.

“Hey, at least they’re not attacking each other with shaving cream.”

Stiles pulled away from Derek long enough to inform Scott, “We’ll get to that part in a minute or two.”

Before anyone had a chance to respond in horror, Derek added, “That reminds me, Boyd, could you hand me the box that’s sitting behind the bar?”

With an audible gulp, he went to the kitchen to retrieve the box.

There was no question as to which box Derek was referring to, because, well.

With eyes as round as the pizza, he walked over and stood near the others, holding the box and not saying a word.  Stiles and Derek continued to make out, _loudly,_ as if no one was there to watch them, and as if Boyd wasn’t standing amongst the rest of the pack, awkwardly holding a box of . . .

Erica inspected its contents first, her eyes lighting up like the aurora borealis as they swept over the lidless box. Carefully arranged inside were a bottle of baby oil, a set of handcuffs, a whip, at least thirty feet of chains, several padlocks, pink lace panties, a butcher knife, a blindfold, a box of condoms, several cups of vanilla pudding, a can of whipped cream, a dog leash, feathers, a can of red paint, tin foil, a banana, some cherries, and a bottle of glue.

 Jackson, upon inspecting the box in Boyd’s arms, became unnaturally pale. Lydia let out a bloodcurdling scream. Erica scoffed at them.

“You all have such little imagination. I could _totally_ work with this.”

Jackson slumped to the floor, unconscious.

Scott, whose automated body functions had all ceased the instant he caught sight of what the box contained, slowly resumed breathing and blinking.

“Put it down,” he told Boyd urgently under his breath.

“Where?” he asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide his horror.

“Anywhere!” Scott hissed. “We need to _go_. Grab Jackson and let’s get the hell out of here.”

Boyd deposited the box near the end of the couch, looking at his empty hands as if they might have contracted the Ebola virus.

“Hey, thanks buddy!” Stiles said warmly, before pulling his t-shirt over his head and tossing it in the general direction of the pack. It sailed neatly through the air and landed on Lydia’s head.

To everyone’s surprise, she was able to scream _louder_. And so she did.

Scott managed to herd the traumatized group out the front door before anyone actually required medical attention. 


	6. I'm So Sorry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles looks in the box . . .

Stiles crouched in front of the window, watching gleefully as the rest of the teenagers tripped, staggered, and otherwise fled toward their vehicles. Scott was the only one to pause, turning around and smiling at the dilapidated house, before shaking his head and leaving with Allison.

Stiles turned to look at Derek.  "They're gonna be scarred for life, dude! Did you even _see_ Jackson?  What did you put in that box, anyway?"

He wandered back over to where Boyd had dropped the box and began combing through it, while Derek watched him silently, trying to contain his smile.

 _"OH MY GOD!?"_ he shrieked, pulling out a mouse trap from the bottom and holding it out to Derek. "What _possible_ sexual use could this have??"

Derek looked at it and shrugged (in typical cryptic Derek fashion).

Stiles paused, eyeing Derek, who had at some point removed his shirt and now sat half naked on the couch, his arm resting across the back. With half a smile on his face, Stiles reached into the box and pulled out the whipped cream. And the pudding. And the banana, which he peeled and began sucking on, just to watch Derek squirm, which he did.

He walked over to the couch. "We can't let this stuff go to waste," he murmurred, opening a cup of pudding and smearing it all over Derek's chest.  He wiggled down into his lap, as if he were going to lick it all off. Instead he got off the couch and went back to the box, digging out a few more toys to use on Derek. 

"Stiles," Derek whimpered, "you can't rub pudding on my nipples and just _leave_."

"Hang in there, dude, you're the one who came up with all this stuff. You can't honestly expect me to just ignore things like this?" He held up the can of red paint, and Derek groaned.

Stiles went back over to him, hiding the secretly-retrieved object in his hands as best he could, and began kissing Derek.  He gently pushed his arms above his head, tracing his fingers down over the giant muscles to his shoulders, all the while thrusting his tongue so deeply down Derek's throat that he had to pull away and shout, "Stiles!  My tonsils are _ticklish_ , knock it off!"

As Stiles resumed kissing him in a highly distracting manner, he slid his fingers back up Derek's arms.  He then proceeded to reach around the pole of the standing lamp next to the couch, and in a moment of extreme coordination and dexterity, trap Derek's hands in the handcuffs, securing him to the lamp stand.

Derek's eyes flashed open in a fit of panic, and he struggled against the handcuffs. "Stiles!  Stiles _what did you do_?"

"I sneaked up on you, sucka!"

"Stiles."

"I totally got you. This is gonna be AWESOME."

"Stiles."

"What???"

"I don't have the keys."


End file.
